


Fading Light

by AzureSummoner



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Bad Ending, Come Inflation, Dark fic, Emet is the monster, Emet-Selch Wins, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Intercrural Sex, Manipulation, Mention of Blood and Gore, Monsters, Oral Sex, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Size Difference, Submission, Tentacle Sex, This is not a Lightwarden fic, Vaginal Sex, no beta we just die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureSummoner/pseuds/AzureSummoner
Summary: Monster sex.  That's it.  That's the fic.The Warrior of Darkness ventures into Emet-Selch's lair and strikes a deal that will cost her everything.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 139





	Fading Light

**Author's Note:**

> Say you have a train. Now imagine that train has gone off the rails and rolled down a hill, before falling off a cliff and rolling down a few more hills. It bursts into flames. Also it’s carrying a nuclear payload.
> 
> That’s about what’s happened here.
> 
> WARNING! Monster!Emet fucks the WoL. That’s it. That’s the fic. Mind the tags, and if this is not your cup of tea then please hit the back button. Complaints will be forwarded to the appropriate department.

Slipping away from the Scions had been the easy part. Finding Amaurot was much harder, but here she stood; beneath the churning sea, amidst a city of dark, towering buildings. 

_Find me, and I’ll allow you to face your end with dignity._

With the light boiling inside she couldn’t risk the lives of her friends, not when she was so close to turning. She would do this on her own. She would face Emet-Selch and rescue G’raha Tia; or she would succumb to the Lightwarden’s call and kill them all.

“Emet-Selch!” She cups her hands around her mouth, bellowing loudly. “I give up! Come out of hiding!”

Everything is still and quiet, save the giant apparitions that wander the streets. She’s about to call again when he appears, levitating above her.

“This is a surprise, hero. I expected you to ignore my instructions and drag those bothersome Scions along with you.” He touches down gently before her, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Where’s the Exarch?”

“Already with this?” he sighs, rolling his eyes skyward. “If you’ve come to fight for him, I should kill you here and be done with it. My offer was for you to complete your transformation away from prying eyes; not give you some false hope that you might wrest control.”

“But I’m here. You have no reason to keep him.”

“I’ve no reason to release him, either. You’ve walked right into the predator’s jaws, as it were. You have no chips to bargain with.”

As soft as his footsteps are, they thunder in her ears. Nearer, and nearer still. His hands are folded behind his back as if on a leisurely afternoon stroll. She stares straight ahead, unwavering. Fists clenched at her sides. 

“There is _one_ thing, Emet-Selch. You can have _me_.”

He stops. She dare not look his way, but she would swear in the corner of her vision that she sees the muscles of his jaw tighten.

“ _You_?” he howls, throwing his hands up. “How brave, hero. Offering yourself that I might spare the Exarch. I would know how he managed to, not only control my tower, but summon your body and soul across the Rift. A paltry token for my troubles, but it will do,” he decides, pacing slowly around her.

“Tell me, my dear, what is it that _you_ have to offer me? You are already defeated. You’re due to complete your transformation at any time. My objective here is coming together nicely. What more could I want?”

“Is that how you want this to end, Emet-Selch? You’re going to let the light claim me? Don’t you want revenge for your fallen comrades?”

“For _Lahabrea_? That codger dug his grave with his own two hands. The others were mere fragments. I can raise them from their remaining shards at any time. Nay, you’ll need to do better than that,” he scoffs, continuing his march.

“Then… Then take me as your servant. Use me as your vessel.”

“The Warrior of Light as an Ascian’s puppet? A noble gesture. Selfless.” He stops behind her, hands at her elbows before he leans down to murmur in her ear.

“Utterly foolish.”

The fine hairs at the back of her neck prickle. Blood pounds in her ears, and warmth paints her cheeks. He drops his hands, coming full circle to stand before her. He’s tall, much taller than her. She’s not thought much of it before now.

“Again, your offer falls short. If I’d wanted your body I would have taken it by now. I don’t care that you _are_ the Warrior of Light -- you are a pitiable, fractured thing. Beaten. Vanquished. I have built empires, and engineered calamities with lesser vessels. And _you_ , my dear, have fallen to me, just as your predecessors.” Each word is a dagger wound. She flinches.

“Recall that _you_ have sought _me_ , here in _my_ lair, where you’ve all but thrown yourself at my feet.” Her fists tighten. She straightens her spine, daring to meet his eyes with what defiance remains.

“Then, what do you want?”

He cups a hand to his ear and leans in, as if he’s not heard her. “What’s that now?”

“What do you _want_ , Emet-Selch?” she snarls. “You’ve entertained me _this_ long. There must be _something_ , else you would have killed me by now.”

A lazy smile stretches across his face. He wags a finger at her. “I knew you would ask the right question. _Eventually_.” 

She forces herself to stand firm as he crowds in, leaning into her face. He grips her jaw with an easy pressure, stroking with his thumb. Her cheeks darken.

“I’ll admit that I want you, my dear, but not how you’ve envisioned. You'll follow my every command?" 

"Y--yes," she answers too quickly, returning his stare with equal fervor. "As long as you don't ask me to hurt my friends." He exhales in disgust. 

"I'm hardly concerned about that lot." He releases her jaw and _snaps_. "'Tis done. Your Exarch has been returned."

She furrows her eyebrows, earning an irritated growl from the man. "The first thing you'll do is _listen_. I have no reason to lie. Not when the truth is so much fun. See for yourself."

He waves his hand and a ball of glass appears. It drifts before her like a bubble on the breeze. Reflected within are moving images of the Scions, rushing to aid a wounded G'raha Tia. She recognizes the scenery; it’s outside of the Dossal gate, in the Crystarium. She leans closer. The crystal shatters into a dusting of shadow, blowing away to nothing. 

"You could have given me a moment!" she barks, raising her fists. Their agreement stays her hand; narrowly.

"Forgotten already? You're not in control here, hero.”

He looks her over, clicking his tongue in thought. “Hand over your weapon. Or did you think you would catch me unawares with one of your primitive creatures?" Her lips part -- _she reads like an open book_ \-- but she remains silent. Frowning, she thrusts the grimoire into his waiting hand. 

"The power of primals," he mutters, and cracks the spine open to flip through its pages. "I could teach you far greater magic than any you've learned by mortal hands."

"You're going to teach me -- ?” The book slaps shut, clipping her words. He tosses it over his shoulder. 

"What lofty expectations. It would serve you well to learn your place. Come here.” He crooks a finger. Though it vexes her, she walks. “Good, yes. Like that. Now, on your knees.” 

Her eyes widen -- but she kneels before him as commanded. Her leather boots hardly provide cushion against the cold, hard pavement. He lifts a brow in curiosity.

“I expected at least an onze of resistance. Or does this appeal to you, Ascian-slayer?” She bites the inside of her cheek to temper a venomous reply.

“It doesn’t really matter. As you’ve said, I’m going to turn soon.” Her gaze hardens; until he rests a hand upon her head.

“Oh, tut-tut. Would I take you under my wing, only to so readily cast you aside?”

“That…” It’s hard to think with his fingers combing through her hair. Under his wing? He doesn’t mean that. 

A pressure at the back of her skull nudges her closer to his…

She swallows. “I--I’m not very good at this.” 

“I don’t need you to be ‘good at it’,” he murmurs. “You need only quietly accept my aether, hero. T’would not be fair to change into some _beast_ after you’ve offered yourself.” 

His aether? She’s puzzling it together when --

“Must I explain everything?” he sighs. “I am _unsundered_. As one of Zodiark’s chosen, my aether is attuned with the dark. I’m more than capable of negating that foul light within you, but I must imbue your soul with my essence.”

 _His essence?_ The meaning clicks into place. She squeaks.

“You’re hardly in a position to complain. Accept my mercy, or turn. When you do, I’ll take you straight to the Crystarium’s doorstep and -- “

“No! Not that,” she pleads. She’d left the Crystarium to save the Exarch, but also to avoid that exact scenario. She can’t turn now; not when she might be saved. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll do what you want. Just don’t --”

“Good,” he interjects. “Come along.” 

He releases her hair and snags her under the arm. She’s on her feet before she’s gathered her wits; and he’s several steps ahead. 

“Have your feet failed you?” he calls. “Must I carry you?”

“What? No!” she spits back, jogging to catch up. “Where are we going?”

“Ah-ah. No questions. It’s not too late for me to trade you back. Nod if you understand.” Her icy glare would freeze a mortal man, but Emet-Selch is an Ascian. She nods -- and he clasps her shoulders, thawing her chill. Given his mood a moment ago, he’s gone oddly sober. 

“Tell me, my dear. Were I to give you the choice -- do you _want_ me to save you?” What sort of question is that? She refuses to look, until he catches her by the chin and forces her to meet his stony eyes. “I would have your answer.”

She wants to bite his fingers. Push him to the ground. Muddy his fancy robes, tear the medals from his jacket, and cram them past his gilded tongue. But she knows it’s for naught; her life was forfeit the moment she absorbed Vauthry’s light. There was no plan to save her; there never was. G’raha’s intent to sacrifice himself in the Rift? Of all the asinine… If she might have one last regret, it’s that she won’t be able to throttle him for such idiocy. 

His silk touch at her lips breaks her drifting thoughts.

“Willing to risk your life, time and again with no thought of self preservation. Your so-called ‘friends’ dare not stop you -- for who among them would take your place? Leaving you to bear the worst of the hurts, inside and out.”

“That’s not true,” she whispers. “They’ve always stood with me. They’ve fought beside me --”

He releases her. Shields his eyes like a visor, and peers around. When no Scion bursts forth he turns to the Shades, his arms wide in question. They have no answer; they only know of their doom. At last, he returns his attention to the only other living being in all of Amaurot.

“Yes, go on. Tell me more about these gallant companions of yours. They break down the walls of my fortress as we speak, come to rescue their vaunted hero. Whatever shall I -- ah, crossed a line, have I?”

She’s fallen mute, but her inner distress is made plain in her posture. She sees, and she acknowledges; she’s alone. She’s suffering. Tainted light erodes her from the inside out. Why couldn’t anyone stop it from coming to this? Don’t her friends care? She knows that she’s vulnerable, and it’s influencing her thoughts. Of _course_ the Scions care. That’s why it was so easy to slip away, unnoticed. It’s why they left her alone, unattended while she lay boiling alive. She could turn at any moment. She can’t blame them for being afraid.

“You must be in terrible pain.” Emet-Selch’s tone is too gentle to be sincere. He’s an Ascian. He’s her _enemy_.

“I ask again, hero. Do you _want_ me to save you?”

He is…

“Yes.” Her savior.

She gulps down air at the realization of what she’s said. A great betrayal against Hydaelyn. Against the Scions, Eorzea; and most of all, herself. Accepting an enemy’s help to prevent her own death -- is she this selfish? She’s _supposed_ to die for the greater good. It’s what a hero does. It’s what Hydaelyn would want.

It’s not what _she_ wants.

“I don’t want to become a Lightwarden. I don’t... want to die like this.” She hugs herself. “I know I’m wrong, but I didn’t choose this. I never asked to become the Warrior of Light.”

“‘Wrong’ by whose standards?” He pets her head affectionately, teasing a stain of red from her cheeks. “Hydaelyn has stolen everything from you. It’s perfectly reasonable to feel upset.”

She doesn’t respond. He sees it as encouragement. “No more worries, hero. You won’t suffer that fate.”

“I don’t understand you, Emet-Selch. You sound like you care. Why should you?”

“I’ve always cared. Now, let us away.” The petting stops. He _snaps_ , a portal of dark aether appearing at his summons. “After you.”

Her jaw hangs open in question -- but one look at him and she thinks better of it. She’s already shown her vulnerabilities. Bravery is pointless now, but she squares her shoulders all the same and steps into the waiting darkness.

***

Everything is shadowed in violet. She cannot tell where this space begins or ends; as if she’s back in the Rift. The platform they stand upon floats aimlessly in space. She wonders what would happen if she were to walk off the edge.

“Come away from there," Emet-Selch calls. Something -- a curl of shadowy aether -- snakes around her waist. It guides her to the center, where he awaits with an outstretched hand. 

"Did you think you would escape me by falling?” He smiles. No sooner have her fingers graced his palm than he snares her wrist, pulling her flush against his chest. He wraps an arm around her back to hold her in place. She’s wide-eyed, trying to appear fierce. 

The ruse holds, until his lips brush against hers. Her fingers don't have the strength to bend his epaulettes, but she tries.

“May Hydaelyn be damned for what She’s done to your beautiful soul,” he whispers. “I certainly have my work cut out for me.”

“What are you talking about? Hydaelyn didn’t --” His earlier words force themselves to mind. She groans at the overload.

_Not that you would remember any of this. Not that you would remember. Remember..._

“Oh, there’s so much for us to discuss… But first, I’ll rid you of this abysmal light.” Once she can stand on her own two feet, he lets her slip from his arms and steps back. His Ascian’s sigil appears before his face, and he smirks. 

“I hope you’re ready, hero. I’m going to devour you.”

She jumps as something moves below her feet; the shadows along the platform are creeping towards Emet-Selch. He calls the darkness to himself, a black-violet pool at his feet that continues to grow until it blooms, dark and smoky, in a blinding fog around him.

The flow of aether stirs the air, whipping her hair into her face. She can no longer see him, but the cloud continues to grow. It swells to great heights, outward and up. Cold fear gnaws at her stomach.

The smoke clears at once. What towers above her now can only be described as ‘monstrous’. 

In place of the man stands something wicked and ancient. The red mask that’s been so noticeably absent now sits upon its chest. Its arms, gray and grotesquely human, end in long, golden nails. Wing-like limbs protrude from his back, ending in great clawed hands. Red threads of magic circle one, like a sorcerer’s ley lines. The other holds an enormous staff of violet crystal, the head of it like a starburst; and at its crown, fittingly, stands an effigy of his master.

_Zodiark._

Unseen power grabs at her body, pulling her into the air. She flails at the loss of balance and gravity. Ravana had used the same trick; but he also hadn’t been twenty feet tall. 

She ponders on what the Ascian had said; that he would ‘devour’ her. Perhaps he means to do so in the literal sense. That certainly would end her plight.

She falls; into its waiting hand, where the other comes to hover above her. She shrinks back from a looming golden claw, but only accomplishes pressing her back harder against the palm that cradles her body. With a sense of delicacy, he tilts the razored tip to run the flat of it along her cheek; a perverse gesture of affection, to which she offers a choked cry of anticipation. Perhaps he means to be rid of her after all. She imagines herself impaled on that claw, body sliding down ilm by agonizing ilm as her lifeblood spills over his finger in red rivulets. If he’s merciful he’ll simply slit her throat. Shuddering horror wracks her body, and he laughs. A deep, rumbling sound, like rolling thunder.

<< Afraid, are we? >>

She doesn’t recognize the language, but knows it to be something ancient. Something long forgotten by time. The language of Emet-Selch’s people.

“If you’re going to kill me instead, just get it over with.”

<< Kill you? I think not. I shall have you for a very, very long time to come. >>

He traces the tip of his talon along her clothing, from her chin to the hem of her skirt, before dipping his nail below the fabric. She gasps as he curls his finger. The fabric parts cleanly, leaving the expanse of skin from her neck to her smallclothes exposed. She shivers below his gaze, though she cannot read his intent behind the face of the monster.

<< A lovely sight to behold. Do you taste as sweet as you appear? >>

Raised toward his face, she has nowhere to hide from the assault of his tongue; dark and long, she can’t tell where it protrudes from. The slick, rubbery thing drags across her body from crotch to cheek, leaving her covered in a thin film of saliva. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, eyebrows screwed up in disgust. Less at what he’s doing, and more at the growing warmth in her body.

<< Trying to shut me out? Speak. >>

“Nngh…” Her refusal to respond earns the flat of his nail pressed against her stomach, sliding lower to the wetted mound between her legs. It's too large to give the focused friction she needs, but it serves surprisingly well to stir her arousal. She grinds her hips against the smooth surface, moaning like some wanton thing before her mind catches up and scolds her. 

<< Why fight the inevitable? You're already mine. >>

"I'm not…" she pants out, unsure of what she means to say. She's already signed his contract, handed over her body and soul. But the rest…

_Why is my body getting hot? I can't really be turned on by this -- !?_

<< Such delicious sounds you make. You're already remembering. >>

"Re--remembering what?" she whimpers, but she knows he's right. Something itches at the back of her mind, something buried deep. She tries to resist its call, the call to give in; but she _wants_ to give in. 

"Ahh!" she cries, shivering in ecstasy beneath the monster's ministrations. She bucks her hips against his claw, a thin sheen of sweat painting her brow. For a moment she lay there against his palm, head lolled to the side as she catches her breath. He praises her with his touch, stroking her hair with his knuckle.

Through the haze of bliss comes realization; the light is receding. The change is slight, but compared to the agony she’s been in, it’s a noticeable relief. Is it because of Emet-Selch?

<< Feeling better? Good. We have a long way to go. >>

Something cool and slimy slithers between her breasts, curling tight around a puckered nipple. She bolts up in alarm; or tries to. More of the odd vines wrap around her limbs. Dark purple things, dripping viscous fluid across her exposed skin. 

_It smells…_ Like fennel mixed with flowers. The cloying scent turns her stomach as another sensation takes hold, a fluttering heat that reminds her of the flush after drinking too much liquor. It starts in her chest and blooms outward, warming her cheeks and loins. 

_What’s with this reaction? Is it this scent?_

<< Don't get comfortable. Shouldn't you show me some appreciation? >>

In unison the tendrils snake beneath her tattered clothing at every entry point; at her shoulders to stretch out through her sleeves, beneath the hem of her smallclothes, and along the leather boots. And as one, they rip away from her body, shredding fabric until not a scrap is left. 

She should feel ashamed. Even with his unreadable mask, she knows that he leers at her naked form. 

It's exciting. 

"What should I do? You’re so big."

<< Heh. Allow me to show you. >>

She peers over the edge of his palm to see what busies his other hand; the more human one. He parts his long, dark robes to unveil a fully erect cock, grayish-purple in color. The bulbous head is flushed reddish-violet and already drips with the evidence of his desire.

"Th--that's not going to fit…" she stammers. "But I could…"

When he lowers her to his arousal, her immediate instinct is to heft the swollen tip between her hands in offering. She runs a palm along the underside of his turgid flesh, pulling a hiss from the creature above.

"You can feel that?" she wonders aloud. 

<< I assure you, I will feel everything that you do. Go on. Worship me as you please. >>

Sickly sweet spice fills her lungs, warm and intoxicating. His weeping slit stares her in the face. She bows, and dips the flat of her tongue into the fleshy groove. His liquid lust pools in her mouth as she licks its length, like sticky syrup. It tickles her throat on the way down; what she cannot swallow drips down her chin. The monster above rumbles his approval.

<< Mmmnngh, you're going to serve me well. >>

Her belly feels cool where his essence has settled. It's a relief from the burning light. She needs _more_.

She attacks his head, greedily slurping up as much of his fluids as she can. He chuckles, pleased. Her breasts press into the underside of his length as she cradles him, vigorously licking his slit to tease out every last drop. It's divine stimulation that drives his base need to bury himself in her heat, though present circumstances render this impossible. He'll take the next best thing. 

One of the looming tentacles spurts its load into his palm. He's quick to slather his shaft with the slimy mess, working it over until he's coated in the substance. 

Ignoring her squeal, he seizes her at the waist and lifts, to sit her astride his rigid length. She seems to understand; she's already grinding her sex against him in a desperate bid for relief. 

<< Mmm, yes. Tighten your thighs a bit. Just like that. >>

He holds her in place and rocks his hips. The layer of goop eases his thrusts between her legs, easy sliding into her makeshift cunt. He imagines the pleasure he'll take later when he fucks her properly; but first, this miserable light. 

<< What a vulgar thing you are. I expect that enthusiasm long after I wring Hydaelyn out of your soul. >>

If she were of clear mind, his words might have set off alarm bells in her head. But Hydaelyn would throw her life away; _he_ has offered her salvation. 

"Umm… It feels so good! I feel the light waning," she gasps, digging her fingers into his massive hands. "Please, I need more of you!"

<< Lost your defiant tongue? >>

She squirms in his grip as another climax rocks her body. Throws her head back, eyes screwed shut, and wails in relief.

"Em--mmmhhh… Ha… Haa…"

He thrusts once more and erupts, spilling his thick, umbral-infused essence on the ground. He studies her intently. She’s remembering. It's right there, on the tip of her tongue. 

He releases his hold and she falls into the waiting claws of his demonic hand. She lay sprawled out in his talons, unmoving, save the rise and fall of her chest. The vile taint of pure white has receded considerably, allowing more of her radiant blue to shine through. 

Things are progressing better than he dared hope. One last push, and he'll enact the final phase of his plans without delay. 

His other wing-like arm arcs through the air, to strike the staff-butt upon the ground. Rock splits apart with a thunderous crack; the great crystal rod penetrates deep. Her gaze lazily drifts toward the disturbance.

"What's that…?" she mumbles.

<< Your punishment. >>

He lifts her toward the staff. She blinks. Threads as crimson as the ley lines around his limb burst from the effigy’s back, spearing through the air toward her. They lash her arms and torso; before she speaks she’s hauled toward the statue. Her wrists are pulled up and back, tethered behind Zodiark’s neck. More strings of red wind around her waist and legs, pinning her knees toward her shoulders. Like this, she’s helpless; fully exposed.

“Wh--what is this!? What punishment? Haven’t I done as you’ve said?” she cries. She struggles against her bonds, to no avail. With her legs spread wide she should feel embarrassed; but she’s never been more aroused. The idea of being laid open and at his mercy sends a renewed pulse of heat through her already sopping sex. In her lust addled mind she wishes for something, _anything_ to fill her, to relieve her aching need.

<< You’ve behaved admirably; but I won’t forgive your past transgressions so readily. >>

“I--? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She squirms. Her eyes have gone hazy, unfocused. As earlier, something crawls around her breast and latches onto her nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak. A second slimy tendril mirrors the motion on her other side. She realizes that more of those tentacle-limbs sway to and fro around her body, serpentine and waiting to strike. 

It doesn’t take long.

<< Are you willing to pay for your mistakes? >>

She feels them curling around her legs, the tips licking her skin like tongues. The ones at her breasts begin to knead and suction. Another, especially thick and slippery, probes at her folds. She shudders involuntarily, prompting more of the red threads to appear, to fix her neck in place.

“Mmnn… Y--yes, I’ll do anything! Just, please…”

The words barely spill from her lips when the probing thing pushes into her hole, wriggling insistently against the stretch of muscle until it pops inside. Unable to move her head she can only moan, slack-jawed, as it thrusts deep and deeper, moving all the way until it kisses her cervix. 

_It’s so big! It should hurt a bit… but I feel fine. Is this his magic?_

The thing in her sex begins to work in earnest, slipping in and out at a brisk pace. Abandoning lingering inhibitions, she pants and moans in time to its rhythm. 

<< Enjoying yourself? ‘Tis not meant to be a _reward_. >>

Though the monster chides her, he sounds amused. Through blurry eyes she watches a new tendril descend before her face. At first glance it appears like the others; until the flesh at its tip peels back like a mongrel baring its fangs, to reveal an engorged, phallic head. It sways before prodding forth to rub at her lips, dribbling that fennel-sweet fluid down her chin, where it drips down between her breasts. She should be repulsed; but she wants it in her mouth. She opens wide, sticking out her tongue to rub along the rubbery underside as it plugs the hole before it. 

Stuffed above and below, she’s rocked into a pleasant daze as the slippery limbs plunge into her mouth and cunt. If this is her end, it’s not a bad way to go. Even as the thing in her mouth slips into her throat, she can’t rouse herself to alarm. Normally she would gag. The substance they ooze must be helping to keep her relaxed. It’s difficult to think, but she wonders at how gentle Hades has been with her, considering that they are enemies, and he’s had ample opportunity to do her harm.

_Hmm? What was that name? I just had it. It’s already gone..._

Further thought is disrupted as another tentacle circles the tight ring of muscle at her bottom. This time, her eyes go wide and she squeals around the limb in her mouth in protest. It pulls out with a wet slurp, allowing her to speak.

“Please! N--not there!” she begs. 

<< Oh? Have you forgotten your position? >>

All of the tendrils come to a stop, frozen in place. It’s not long before she trembles with her overwhelming lust, a deep-seated itch that grows more unbearable with each passing moment. 

“Please, don’t stop! Don’t stop… Just, not there.”

<< Are you ashamed? >>

“I’ve… I don’t do that. I can’t…” She clenches down on the stagnant limb buried in her sex; it’s all that she _can_ do.

<< Don’t you want for me to drive that light out? >>

“Y--yes.”

<< Did you not promise me ‘anything’? >>

“Yes…” The phallic tendril curls around her jaw, stroking soothingly at her cheek. Her mind grows fuzzy once more. That name floats just out of reach. It’s his. She knows it’s his, if she could just remember.

Remember?

“O--OK. But please, _move_! I need this. I need you so badly,” she whines.

<< Relax. >>

The tentacles resume their motion, much slower. The one inside of her withdraws to shallow depth, seeking the spongy spot atop her walls. Finding its target, it becomes focused on that place; pressing, stroking. The tendrils at her breasts sweep over her nipples while massaging her soft flesh. Another slithers up between her legs to focus on the pearl at her center. She’s dimly aware that the one at her bottom has stirred back to life. It circles and prods, applying gentle pressure, coaxing her to relax. Relax. She’s riding the edge of another orgasm, the walls of her sex fluttering around the thing pulsing inside of her. In between contractions, the one below sinks in.

“A--ahh....”

The sound from her throat fades; she sweats with anticipation. Relax. She latches onto the fog in her brain; wills it to consume her. The thing in her rear isn’t as thick as the others. She expects pain, but feels little more than an unpleasant stretch. Perhaps this is also an effect of Hades’ magic.

“Ha… Hades…” she whispers in her daze. She doesn’t see, but the monster has grown still.

<< There you are, Persephone. >>

He howls in victory, but she doesn’t hear; too far gone on lust. The phallus at her jaw pushes back into her eager mouth. The others plunge home, returning to a frantic pace. She doesn’t care. All that matters now is to be filled by him, to take his essence. She falls limp in her bonds and surrenders herself, to let Emet-Selch do as he will.

<< Ha! Did you think you would hide from me? Look how sweetly you submit. Do you see your champion now, Hydaelyn? >>

She whimpers in pleasure as the three tendrils that penetrate her bury themselves deep. They stutter, pulsing cool, dark aether into her throat, womb, and buttocks. It seems unending, filling her to excess. Her stomach swells as if in the early stages of pregnancy; the rest leaks to drip between her cheeks, spilling at the idol’s feet. The one in her mouth pulls out. She sputters and swallows down the sweet, sticky mess. The coiled things at her breasts throb and spill across her stomach. 

Everywhere his essence touches, the light retreats. Weak and dying, it curls in on itself. It won’t be much longer.

<< You see, my darling? Even when you've betrayed me so, I wouldn't let you fall. >>

Without understanding how or why, she knows he speaks the truth. Why does she know his name? The words that come next flow naturally, but she doesn't know where they come from. 

"F--forgive me, Hades. Please…"

The tentacles still buried inside withdraw with a wet squelch. His fluids gush out, spilling to splatter Zodiark’s feet. She whines at the emptiness.

<< Ah. You've done well to return to me. >>

The tendrils change their focus, stroking and caressing her skin and hair.

<< You're still mine. You will always be mine. >>

"Hades… Burn this light out of me. I don't want it," she pleads. It's sweet music to his ears. 

<< Patience. 'Tis almost done. >>

His tendrils slip off of her skin, swaying like serpents.

“Yes… please,” she begs. Her eyes grow unfocused as she watches those twisting, twirling limbs. “Take all of me.”

He laughs; and strikes. By its nature it appears violent, the monstrous vines grabbing and thrusting and claiming, but she’s never felt so light or liberated. No one before has teased such pleasure from her body, nor made her feel safe. As she is now, she can lay her burdens down. She no longer needs to be the Warrior of Light and Darkness. 

It doesn’t stop; not until she’s left drained, entirely exhausted. No trace of the light remains when those tendrils at last withdraw. The red threads that bind her snap loose. Her fading gaze flicks up to the approving eyes of Zodiark as she falls. Those squirming limbs catch and cradle her. They carry her to the ground, letting her drop limply into the puddle of the monster’s essence. She has no energy left to care; it’s done. 

The creature towering above her dissolves into a smoky cloud of aether, as does the sticky substance beneath her. Only the man remains now. His footsteps are as dull thuds a million malms away as the last of her consciousness drifts. She’s aware of being lifted into his arms, but cannot muster the will to open her eyes. 

“My precious Persephone. Let me free you from Hydaelyn’s grip once and for all. Focus on my voice, and relax.”

And she does, despite the gloved hand wrapping around her throat. Free from duty. Free from Hydaelyn. Free to be his. 

It fills her with joy while she chokes on her final breath.

***

Thancred plants the sole of his boot into the massive doors, as if to hurry them to open. The Warrior of Light and Darkness has been missing for too long; it’s taken far too long to locate this hidden city. 

He squeezes through the gap between them with the others close behind, not stopping to admire the grand scale of the hallway or what any of it implies. He has eyes only for what lay at the end; Emet-Selch, upon his throne of gold. And cradled across his lap, the missing Warrior; draped in a gown of sheer green, with flowers pinned in her hair.

“You bastard!” he snarls, launching forward, weapon drawn. He calls her name. They’re all calling for her, loud and desperate. He makes it halfway across the room before his knees lock up. She’s not responding. The back of his neck prickles with a chill. Something is terribly wrong.

“Good of you to come all this way,” the Ascian drones. The gleam in his eyes is insufferably smug. Alisaie starts; held back by her brother.

“Won’t you say ‘hello’, darling?” Emet-Selch beckons to the woman cradled against his shoulder. She lifts her head, and the Scions collectively hold their breaths. She glances between them. Her eyes sparkle as ever, but a nausea stirs deep in the pit of Thancred’s stomach. There’s no recognition.

“Who are you people?” she asks, before turning to Emet-Selch. “Do you know them?”

Alphinaud rushes forth, his sister on his heels. “Why don’t you recognize us? What have you done!?” 

It’s Ryne who speaks first.

“Th--the light is gone! All of it is…” she trails off, clinging to Urianger’s elbow.

“He’s stripped her Blessing,” Y’shtola surmises. Her words drip venom. 

“Close,” Emet-Selch laughs. He gestures to the dais, guiding her to rise from his lap, before standing to join her. They appear too much as an Emperor and his consort, a thought that makes Thancred grind his teeth.

“Well, introduce yourself.”

“You haven’t told me who they are,” she replies with a frown. “I see that your manners haven’t improved without me.”

“I’m sure you’ll keep me in check now,” he sighs, but a smile plays on his lips. “These pitiful things are the Scions of the Seventh Dawn; Hydaelyn’s lap dogs. You won’t need to remember this.”

“Like hell--!!” 

Alphinaud is too slow to grab Alisaie as she springs forth, her rapier aimed at the Ascian’s heart; until the Warrior steps into her path. With a screech she halts her attack and falters, nearly falling down the stairs until she’s snagged at the wrist -- by a face she trusts.

“Y--you remember!” the elezen cries in relief, but her excitement fades fast. 

“I don’t know you.”

Alphinaud flies to Alisaie’s side. The others crowd at the bottom of the stairs behind him. There’s an icy dread creeping along his spine. He thinks; Emet-Selch has chastised them time and again to ask the right question. The right question… He straightens his spine and looks the Warrior in the eyes, willing his nerves to steel for this moment. And he asks --

“Who are you?”

He pulls Alisaie to his side, the cold spreading through his body. Emet-Selch appears as the cat who ate the canary, and that cold continues to spread. The Ascian moves behind the Warrior and wraps an arm around her waist, peering over her shoulder at the gaping crowd.

“Go on then. Tell them who you are.”

And she raises her hand, sweeping it across her face. A tell-tale red glyph floats before her.

“You may call me ‘Asterith’. Ascian.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a lot different from what I normally write. I ventured out of my comfort zone. The Bookclub got on the topic of monsters and it spiraled from there. I'd like to thank them for the feedback and enabling me to write 17 pages of... this.
> 
> Are you a reader or writer who enjoys FFXIV fics? Consider joining a friendly and enabling group at the Emet-Selch discord! This story wouldn't exist without them. :)
> 
> https://discord.gg/ftFnYbe
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @AzureSummoner


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